Everlasting
by kemu17
Summary: The first of my two sequels to Everland. Just some Thursday family Morse fluff and some hurt comfort, both physical and emotional. As always I highly value all comments and reviews and I would like to thank people for taking the time to read and review my works. Rated K just in case.
1. Chapter 1

Thursday took Morse's case in one hand and Morse's upper arm in the other, guiding him out to the car. Settling down in the back seat Morse yawned, suddenly exhausted. He was already run down from the prison, and all the emotions from the past hour were too much for him. Jakes and Thursday noticed with pity that his eyes keep slowly fluttering shut, then snapping open a few seconds later as he tried to keep himself awake. There were dark circles around his eyes and his face was pale and drawn, his chiselled cheekbones more prominent than was healthy. As Jakes had pointed out earlier, he really did look awful.

After dropping Jakes off, it was a short drive to Thursday's house. Again, Thursday took his arm and helped him along the path to the front door. It flew open from the other side and before Morse could even comprehend who was behind it, he was pulled into a tight embrace.

"Morse love, thank goodness you're here," Win murmured in his ear.

Morse couldn't think of anything to say so just stood and let himself be hugged. He could feel the unspoken emotion flowing out, into the caring arms that he hadn't experienced since the death of his mother all those years ago.

"Don't smother him mum," Joan called from the kitchen.

Win released him, taking his arm and guiding him into the hall. She helped him out his coat and hung it on a peg then took his shoulders and guided him towards the living room. The smells wafting from the kitchen were sublime and Morse felt so grateful for the hospitality. It would have been a can of beans at his flat.

"Hey stranger. You look dead on your feet but I'll have the colour back on your cheeks in no time. My cooking, I mean," Joan emerged from the kitchen, winking mischievously at Morse.

As if to answer this, Morse's empty stomach suddenly growled and he flushed bright red.

"That's more like it. Don't worry, it's almost ready," Joan teased, leaning forward to kiss his cheek.

As Morse went into the living room Sam stood up, shaking his hand and clapping his shoulder. He could hear Win and Fred conversing in hushed tones in the hall - probably discussing his lack of weight and general dishevelled appearance. As Joan had promised, supper was ready in no time – a thick tomato soup, hearty stew and dumplings and a steaming sponge and custard. Morse wolfed it down, with Win insisting he take generous second helpings of everything and plonking a huge milk stout down in front of him.

There was a euphoric, celebratory atmosphere during the meal, the shock from Fred's reappearance now jubilance. Morse began to realise the joy wasn't just from having Fred back alive, but from having him with them too – they all seemed very affected by his false imprisonment. Win insisted on standing up and toasting them both – Fred for 'keeping life surprising' and Morse for 'always being there to keep an eye on him."

After the meal was over, the waistband on Morse's trousers felt significantly tighter and he could feel the fatigue washing over him again. He sat with his chin leaning on his hand, enjoying listening to the sounds of Sam and Joan teasing each other with Fred and Win laughing along and joining in. As the conversation began to lull, he could feel his eyelids starting to droop and he stifled a yawn, trying to hide it behind his hand.

"Bed!" Fred said at once, not deceived in the slightest.

It was a mark of how exhausted Morse was that he didn't even bother trying to argue, letting Thursday take him him under his elbows and lead him out of the room. Halfway up the stairs Morse grabbed hold of the bannister, swaying alarmingly on his feet. Thursday took a sturdy grip of his upper arms, firmly leading him to the top of the stairs, out of danger of falling. By this point, Thursday's hold was the only thing keeping Morse upright and Thursday was concerned about how light the young man felt.

In the guest room Fred pulled back the duvet, sat Morse down on the bed, handed him his pyjamas then left. Morse's pyjamas fell out of his grip and onto the floor; he was asleep before his head hit the pillow. This was how Thursday found him half an hour later when he came to check on him; fully clothed, feet still on the floor in a half lying, half sitting position. Fred loosened and removed his tie then lifted his legs into the bed, pulling the duvet over him and tucking it under his chin. He let his fingers linger on the lad's warm forehead for a minute then left, turning out the light and quietly closing the door behind him.

Returning to the living room, to everyone's surprise, Fred decided to break the hall stand rule. After all his family had been through, he felt they deserved something of an explanation. However, he promised it was for one night only, and on the proviso that no questions were allowed (looking pointedly at Joan). He provided a very watered down version of the story he had told Morse, leaving out the names and specifics, but providing a very general explanation of the main events. He told them enough that they could understand why the events had taken place, but not enough to frighten them or put them in danger. After he had finished talking, Joan was clearly bursting with curiosity but Fred just looked at her, eyebrows raised and eyes twinkling and she reluctantly swallowed her questions. He finished by emphasizing how much of an ordeal Morse had suffered, and asking them to try and avoid mentioning it.

After all the excitement and emotion, they had all crashed back down and felt the fatigue setting in. After some hot chocolate and more hugs they all quietly drifted to bed, whispering good nights to avoid waking Morse. After several weeks on the run, Fred couldn't describe the feeling of being back in his bed, far less with his wife beside him. Win had been having trouble sleeping in the empty bed, but not tonight - she snuggled into him, he wrapped her in his arms and they both fell asleep instantly.


	2. Chapter 2

Fred had taken a few days before going back to work to spend some time at home with Win. They were listening to the radio and pairing socks together when the doorbell rang. Fred kissed Win on the cheek then walked into the hall, opening the front door.

"Afternoon Doctor, thanks for coming," Thursday greeted.

"Not at all Inspector, it is my job," DeBryn smiled, stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind him. "How is he?"

"Absolutely exhausted, poor lad. Far too pale, and very thin. We gave him a good meal last night, and then he went straight to bed. He was asleep early, but Win says she heard him having nightmares in the early hours," Thursdays face was nothing but pity.

"Entirely understandable," DeBryn agreed sympathetically as Thursday led him up the stairs.

"Well he woke up around elevenish, so we made him some brunch and he sat with us but he was really quiet. He went for a nap about two hours ago, so I haven't really had a chance to properly see how he's doing. Emotionally I mean. Hopefully it's just shock and will wear off, it's still early days. I'm really worried about injuries he may have though, coppers get it bad inside"

"Quite," DeBryn lowered his voice as they entered Morse's room.

Morse was sprawled out in the bed, his usual mess of tangled limbs, hair and freckles. Fred settled himself in the window seat and as DeBryn set his bag on the bedside chair, Morse began to stir.

"DeBryn?" Morse asked thickly, peering out of his sleep crusted eyes.

"Morse. Contrary to generic pleasantries, I'm not going to lie - you look awful."

Morse understood this to be DeBryns version of a warm welcome, and a wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He sat himself up, DeBryn fluffing up the pillows behind him.

"On the down low again Doc?" Morse enquired.

"Quite the contrary. For the duration of this new shake up I've been appointed as a temporary police surgeon, giving me jurisdiction over the living as well as the departed. I must say it's much less interesting when your patient can talk back," DeBryn explained ruefully. "So I thought I'd best be popping over here and checking that you haven't picked up anything nasty."

"I can step outside if you want, Morse?" Thursday enquired.

"Nah its fine," Morse replied, shaking his head blithely.

DeBryn opened up his medical bag, slipped a thermometer into Morse's mouth and began gently palpitating his neck. He checked Morse's eyes and used an otoscope to look inside his ears then removed the thermometer, glancing at it wordlessly. He took Morse's blood pressure, lingering over it longer than normal to try and delay the next step of his examination. He had a good idea of how Thursday would react to whatever injuries Morse had received and knew that he would have to struggle to contain his own emotions. This was why he had preferred pathology over general practice – much less risk of personal involvement. Reluctantly, the doctor picked up his stethoscope and asked Morse to lift his pyjama top.

Morse knew what was coming, he knew that DeBryn and Thursday were expecting to see bruising, cuts or perhaps even broken ribs and stab wounds. He knew about the constant violence and abuse police officers could expect inside and he knew that he had been lucky to escape with his life. He wanted nothing more than to put it behind him and hoping that his colleagues wouldn't make too much fuss, he lifted his pyjama top.

It took DeBryn and Thursday a few seconds to comprehend what they were seeing. Pale skin pulled tight over a chest that was unhealthily thin, but otherwise free from the abuse and traumas that the imagination had been throwing up. DeBryn gently felt Morse's ribs that were sticking through his skin, immensely surprised and relieved that none of them were broken or tender. He knew that Morse wasn't one for beating around the bush, so he decided to go for his usual blunt honesty.

"Morse, I know you want to put it all behind you but please be honest with me – any injuries that I need to look at?" DeBryn was speaking in a gentler voice than usual.

"None," Morse replied truthfully.

Thursday made no remark, but Morse noticed him raise his eyebrows in surprise.

"I…I made a friend," Morse added, his voice catching in his throat as he felt the full enormity of what that meant.

Without further comment, DeBryn engaged his stethoscope to listen to Morse's chest and back, instructing him when to breathe in and out. As Morse had been asleep most of the day, it was only now that he felt himself starting to struggle to hold breath, wheezing out a few coughs. He felt a bit stuffy and thick headed, and he could feel a tickle at the back of his throat. After a few minutes, DeBryn removed the stethoscope, gently pulled Morse's shirt back down and laid him back on the pillows to report his findings.

"Your temperature is high and your glands feel swollen. You've definitely got an ear infection on the way and your blood pressure is quite low. Your chest sounds congested and you have a cough, but with some decent bed rest you should manage to avoid a full blown infection there. I'm afraid a fever is unavoidable, but with the right treatment it should stop as a bad cold and not turn into the flu. Overall, you're very dehydrated and need to put on a significant amount of weight," DeBryn concluded sympathetically.

"Don't worry Doctor, he's staying here until we get him back on his feet. My Win will get him well fed," Thursday assured as Morse coughed feebly.

"Right Morse, now I need to take a blood sample to send for tests. Also, because you are already dehydrated and have a fever coming on, I want to hook you up to an Intravenous and get some fluids in you," DeBryn said, bringing some packets out of his bag.

Looking up, DeBryn noticed Morse's panic and looked stern. "Unless you'd rather have a few days in hospital?"

Morse shook his head fervently, keeping an anxious eye on the syringes the pathologist was assembling. Thursday could see he was breathing faster, causing him to burst into another fit of coughing. Taking pity, he rose off the window seat and pulled the desk chair up on the other side of Morse's bed while DeBryn tied a tourniquet and cleaned the crook of his arm.

"Just relax lad, you'll be fine," Thursday spoke gently and calmly.

As DeBryn slid the needle into his vein, Morse shuddered and beads of sweat broke out across his forehead. He turned his head away from DeBryn and looked like he was trying to stop himself throwing up. His chest was heaving with his short rapid breaths and as DeBryn began extracting the blood, he let out an involuntary moan.

"You're alright Morse, it's almost done" Thursday soothed, gently placing his hands on Morse's other arm and shoulder.

"You're doing well Morse, just take some big deep breaths for me" DeBryn assured his patient.

DeBryn removed the needle and pressed some cotton wool on the area then put a plaster over the jag. Once the syringe was out of sight in the doctor's bag, Morse gave a huge sigh of relief and slumped back on his pillows.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of Morse, it's not something you can control. The dizziness will pass in a minute," DeBryn said perceptively, feeling Morse's clammy forehead.

Morse did indeed feel lightheaded and he could hear a ringing in his ears. Luckily the room wasn't spinning and he had nowhere to fall so he managed to not pass out. DeBryn once again went rummaging around his bag, this time bringing out a significantly larger needle on a cannula, along with a bottle of clear liquid and a length of tubing.

"Now given your lack of body mass, I'm going to hook you up to a glucose drip rather than a saline one to get more energy into your system," DeBryn explained whilst removing the cannula from the packet.

Morse visibly swallowed when he saw the size of the needle, but it appeared not to send him into the same blind panic. This time DeBryn used the vein on the back of Morse's hand, gently pricking the skin and pushing the full length of the needle into the vein. Morse winced slightly when it went in but appeared to be considerably less distressed, which did not go unnoticed by DeBryn and Thursday.

"Its fine - no blood," Morse explained in response to their questioning expressions.

DeBryn nodded his understanding and continued setting up the IV. He attached one end of the tube to the bottle and opened the flow regulator to get the solution running through. Once a drop came out the bottom, he shut off the flow to connect the other end to the cannula. With the drip now attached to Morse's vein, he finished by taping the cannula in place on Morse's hand and hanging the bottle from a lampstand.

"Complete bed rest is necessary to stop the drip tearing out, but given the fever that's coming I doubt you'll be going far anyway. I'll get you a prescription of antibiotics and check back in a few days," DeBryn said in his usual frank manner.

Morse settled himself back on the pillows and dozed off as DeBryn packed his bag away and left the room with Thursday. True to the DeBryns words, Morse's temperature rapidly increased and within hours he was wheezing for breath and speaking with a hoarse croak. Win immediately devoted herself to her patient, bringing him endless cups of lemon and honey tea and serving him soup and scrambled eggs. She also had an inexplicable expertise with changing Morse's drip – when she had found Fred looking blankly at DeBryns instructions, she had taken the new bottle from his hand and had it running within a minute.

* * *

A few days after DeBryns visit, Morse was on the worst day of his cold and was drifting in and out of consciousness. He had woken in the early hours gasping for breath through a hacking cough and Win had risen and padded through with a bottle of cough medicine. She had helped him sip from a glass of water, rubbed Vicks on his throat and sat rubbing his back until his breathing subsided. She had then tucked his blankets back over his shoulders and stayed with him until he had fallen asleep again.

Late morning he came to again as she entered his room carrying a tray, and he felt immensely guilty for the burden he was causing her. She set the tray down on his bedside table, popped a thermometer in his mouth then set about changing his empty IV bottle again. When she took the thermometer from him she huffed sympathetically at how high it was and felt his forehead.

"Mrs Thursday, I'm really sorry about waking everyone last night," Morse rasped, barely audible.

"It's Win dear. And don't you worry yourself at all love. You didn't wake Fred or the kids and it's absolutely no trouble for me, you need looking after. Hush now and rest your voice," Win cooed gently.

She gently helped him into a raised position and placed another pillow under him. She then opened the bottle of medicine DeBryn had prescribed and spooned the dose into Morse's mouth. This antibiotic was a pleasant banana flavour and Morse felt it sooth his throat sandpaper throat. As she opened the bottle of cough medicine, he wrinkled his nose at the smell and leant as far back as possible as the spoon came towards him.

"Open wide dear. I know it tastes unpleasant but it will make you better," Win admonished gently as Morse reluctantly took the spoonful of thick syrup and coughed with a revolted expression.

"There now, we'll have you right as rain in no time love. And I don't want you to ever worry about being a nuisance, you're always welcome here," Win reassured him. She put the tray of medicine aside and sat down on the bed side chair, pulling out the second pillow so Morse was flat on his back again. She picked up a flannel and wrung it out in a bowl of water on the bedside table then gently pressed it on the young man's forehead. The cloth was cool against Morse's hot forehead and he sighed in contentment. She wrung it out again and began methodically sponging down his brow and face.

"I don't know if Fred told you, but I used to be a nurse you know. Yes, when my Fred was away in Italy I did my training at a London hospital and we looked after the returning soldiers. A lot of them were barely older than boys, crying for their mothers. When the war finished I gave it up to have my Joanie and Sam, but caring for people is something you never forget. Everyone needs the mothering touch sometimes and I think you need it more than ever just now."

Morse felt downright miserable from his illness, and Wins intense kindness did indeed remind him of the warmth and comfort that had been lacking ever since Gwen had been allocated as his surrogate mother – from that day forward there had been only spite and resentment. To his utter humiliation he felt a hot tear well up at the corner of his eye and trickle down his cheek. Win caught it with a tissue and caringly dabbed at the corners of his eyes.

"Sorry," he whispered, ashamed.

"There there dear, no need to apologise. You've been through so much, no one is expecting you to be fine, not right away. You will be though, in time. We'll see you right sweetie," Win murmured.

As Morse dozed off again, she placed a bag of ice on his head and the cold cloth on his forehead then quietly left the room. Over the next few days Morse's temperature came back down and his ear infection and chest all but cleared up. DeBryn came back in to check on him and was pleased with the general improvement in his condition. The drip had been enough to put a bit of weight on Morse's slight figure and given that Morse felt well enough to eat again, the doctor felt confident enough to remove the cannula and rely on Wins food to do the job. By discreet enquiry he established that Morse was still having nightmares so prescribed a course of strong sleeping tablets. He pronounced Morse fit enough to leave his bed rest, but recommended in the strongest possible terms that he take a few weeks of rest and recuperation before thinking about anything else.

* * *

So I realise that part of this chapter was inspired by the story 'About Blood' by just make something up. I did not intend any copyright or intellectual property theft, and I received permission from the author of that work.


	3. Chapter 3

As Morse got back on his feet again, he became ingrained into the Thursday family banter. He overcame his initial shyness and began joining in the dinner time teasing, enjoying laughing at Sam and Joan, and indeed himself. In the evenings they all played boards games together – he invariably got bankrupted in monopoly, but obliterated the competition every time they played scrabble. Fred and Win took it in turns to take a sleeping pill into his bedroom at night and Win could hear that he now slept soundly through the night. As part of his recuperation he insisted on helping Win round the house, so he trimmed the lawn and hedges, then painted the doors and bannisters. Win showed him how to cook some quick but healthy meals and by the third lesson they were edible.

He was slowly starting to come to terms with the turmoil of the last two months but he knew it would never leave him, not really. Fred sensed this, so one night he took his bagman out to a pub for a good chat.

"It'll do you good to get out of the house anyway," Thursday remarked as they sat down in a quiet corner.

"I don't know where it goes from here Sir, how it moves forward," Morse explained without prompting.

"Well it's far too soon for you to go back to work, I can tell you that much lad. When you are ready, everything else will just fit into place," Thursday said wisely.

It was an unfamiliar pub they were in – Thursday had done this on purpose to spare Morse from the unwanted attention of the police contingent of their usual. It was therefore something of a surprise when Strange walked into the back room with a pint in one hand and an unfamiliar female in the other. Letting go of his friend, he half raised his hand in an attempt at a friendly greeting but then he let it drop, shamefacedly lowered his head and went back through to the front room with his date in tow.

"That needs time too," Thursday said impassively, watching him go. "Things won't be the same there but maybe it's for the best. You're both very different types of coppers and your loyalties lie in very different places. I know you wouldn't have left me that night even if I'd ordered you away and that means a lot. What happened has happened so now all we can do is go from what we've got. "

Morse still couldn't quite forgive Strange and didn't feel ready to talk about it yet. He was immensely relieved that they had found the child safe and well but the humiliation of his ordeal, especially at county, was taking longer to erase from his mind.

"I remember what you said about the if game sir," Morse said tersely.

Thursday didn't speak but smiled at him proudly. They spent a few moments sipping in companiable silence before Thursday spoke again;

"Time is the healer of all things Morse. Its ok for you not to be on form yet, you need to stop expecting too much of yourself. You've been through a lot and we're all here to help you get back on your feet. There are a lot of people out there who care about you."

"And a lot of people who threw me under a bus. At County," Morse muttered.

"Don't worry about those buggers, nowt a pound and shits tuppence. Most of them got the heave anyway, County is gone for good. No Morse, you just hold your head up high, we're all in your corner."

"Thanks Sir. I suppose change really is coming, isn't it?"

"It is," Fred replied thoughtfully, finishing his drink and standing up, "but you, Jakes and I will just have to face it together. Ready?"

"Yes Sir, lets go!"


End file.
